


A bard,  a song, and an ugly dog

by Fault



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Annoying Jaskier | Dandelion, Gen, Grumpy Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Happy Ending, No Lesbians Die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23397082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fault/pseuds/Fault
Summary: In which  people are nice to Geralt for once, and which he finds strange. Nice, but strange.Jaskier shows up later and provides a great target for Geralts irritation.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 18





	1. Another monster, another town.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is exhausted and filthy, and just wants a bath and a decent meal. Why is that so hard?

The forest is faltering around him. The tendril touch of humanity starting to be truly visible in the mix of trees, the lack of large predators, the gaps in tree cover. For Geralt's nose, the smell of wood smoke filters even this far out into the edges of the wilderness, even in the stillness between the trees. Sensible even above the leaf mold and earth, the sweetness of flowers, and even the acrid stench of fox that came and went, elusive as the animal itself. If that is, like him, one has the senses of a forest animal. And it meant the same to all who smelt it: be on guard, or you will burn too.

The soft morning mist is still evaporating, and Geralt is riding East, towards a relatively small town, one he hopes will pay him decently for the head of the monster he carries in a sack strapped to a saddlebag. Roach snorts at the scent of it once again as the breezes reverses. He reaches out to pat her neck, reassuring her, the movement pulling at the healing scratch on his arm. "We'll be done with it soon." Hunting a monster all night has left him in a somewhat sourer mood than usual. He sharply resents the sun in his eyes as the last of the wilderness breaks apart, leaving him in the glaring brightness of farmland. He misses the dank of the forest already. Soon the road doubles in width to allow carts to pass one another, showing the increased traffic of to and from the farms and hamlets all about the road. This increased width is clearly necessary, he notes to himself, as many carts and wheelbarrows start to join him on it, even though the sun is only just high enough to really get in his eyes. The market is going to be bustling today, he thinks in annoyance at how difficult it will be to organise payment for last's night's work with all that going on around town. He spots yet another traveler ahead.

She's a peasant girl of some sort, carrying a basket to market, dressed in nice clothes, her long brown hair brushed to a gloss and hanging loose about her. Her hips swing pleasantly as she walks, and as the breeze brings him the scent of her, Geralt realises how long a time he's been in the wilderness recently. The forest may be a soothingly familiar place for him, but villages did have their benefits. He takes a deep breath, and somewhat guiltily enjoys the scent of oranges and licorice that wafts from her. He can picture the heat of her skin evaporating a drifting streamer of the perfume into the air to trail behind her.

As Roach bring him ever closer to her, he shifts uncomfortably in the saddle. He hates coming up on lone travelers, especially young women, they always looked so frightened when they see him.

But he could sorely do with payment, a drink, a bath, a meal, and a comfortable bed. Preferably in that order, but he's not fussy. And he's fairly certain he'll need all of them before he's fit to speak with anyone who has pleasant hips. So he just braces himself to hear a horrified scream, and gees Roach to go a little faster to help get it over with quicker. 

Just then she turns to see who is coming up behind, a smile ready to greet a fellow traveler, perhaps a friend. The Sunlight catches her hair as it spins, her eyes sparkle, her radiant smile... drops from her face. Her basket swings from her slack grasp.

"Oh my gods." She gasps. "The White Wolf." and her turn ends abruptly as she trips over her own feet, and lands arse first on the road, her skirts flying up.

Geralt winces. "Hello, are you ok miss?" Geralt calls as he approaches.

He's less worried she'll scream and run. At least Jaskier's ballads had warned her who and what he was. But which secondary reaction awaits? He'd gotten used to them all. Disgust, hatred, fear, awe, those treated him like a dangerous animal, even those who were perversely excited by him. Curious whether a Witcher was as animal in sexual appetite as in appearance.

"Hi.. You're Geralt of Rivia." She says, flipping her hair out of her face and straightening out her clothes.

"Yes, I am." He admits, now that he's in reasonable speaking distance. His voice sounds even more rusty than usual. She doesn't seem to mind at all, looking genuinely pleased, even excited to see him.

She quickly takes in the monster's head, and Geralt's general dishevelment.

It's weird, but the recent ballads of his adventures sometimes make him feel more alienated, not less. He isn't the person described by those songs. People expect things of him that aren't true, and he's not inclined to be a performing monkey, not even for acceptance, for peace.

"Are you thirsty? Hungry? Does your horse need oats? I can take you to the mayor to see about that monster." She says in rapid succession. 

"Have we met?" He asks. He hasn't been by this way in years, but you never know. He usually only gets gratitude like this from people he's saved. And not always then. 

"No. I've just heard stories. I know they're not all true, but you sound so.. competent." She chooses as a descriptor, thoughtfully . 

That's not a common compliment, but one he appreciates.  
"Thank you." he says gruffly.

She trots beside Roach a little longer, staring up at him, not talking.

"Do you want something?" He asks shortly.

"Yes. No. It's just the first time I've seen a real life Witcher." She says, and he notices the look in her eyes. Ah, so it's to be hero worship. A less common reaction to him, especially from a young woman. But he's not in the mood to be put on a pedestal today. 

"I'm not a fairy story hero." He says, leaning towards her menacingly, looming over her and making sure she gets a good look at his eyes and the splattered gore, his white hair and scars. He doesn't need anyone to glorify the nasty business of monster slaying, or the nasty business of Witcher making.

"Of course not. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude." She sounds truly apologetic. Geralt feels ashamed of himself for upsetting what appears to be a perfectly nice young woman.

"What do you want?" It comes out harshly, full of his annoyance at himself. 

"Just to talk." She says, in a small voice. 

His shoulders slump, and he looks at her tiredly. "About what?"

"Whatever you like. Whatever you think people should know about Witchers." She says, her spirits immediately buoyed again. She's quicksilver, far too volatile for someone who's largely only had a horse to talk to for the last week. Combined with her enticing smile and smell, it's like being battered by a storm of larks and daisies. 

"Witchers are perfectly capable of feeling human emotions, otherwise how could I be so exasperated right now." Geralt says.

She's silent a moment. He's hoping she'll either take the hint to leave him alone, or not listen to him, so he can dismiss her as just another ignorant villager hoping he's a character from a ballad. Then he won't feel guilty spurring Roach onward in order to leave this uncomfortable conversation behind.

"You mean if I tried hard enough, you might laugh?" She asks hopefully.

Geralt just looks at her, in surprise. 

She continues, mock conspiratorily. "You look like a tough case, and I'm only really good at making my little brother laugh. You don't like funny faces do you? Because all else I know are fart jokes, and your horse is probably more talented than me in that department."

Geralt remains too tired to understand what exactly is going on in this conversation. Is this flirting? Is she just daft?

"Or there's tickles... But that doesn't seem like it would work either." She holds up her hand and wiggles her fingers.

"Is there anything else you want to know?" He says, looking around the landscape as though it might tell him how to deal with this situation. 

"Do you plant your favourite fruit trees wherever you go, so you might have a sweet surprise next time you're by that way?" She asks.

That is a new one. Usually it's a question about fighting or fucking or his mutations or more recently, the adventures in Jaskier's ballads. He considers a moment, letting the rhythm of Roach's gait rock him in a familiar fashion.  
"A Witcher's life and death are both unpredictable. Fruit trees are for farmers."

"But if you don't have confidence that you have a future, how can you enter battle with a balanced mind?" 

He wonders whether he should just ride on without answering. This is far deeper a conversation than he wants to have right now. On the other hand, she has a pleasant, patient face to go with those pleasant hips, and she's proved that she's perfectly content to wait for her answers.

"I was created to fight monsters. It is my purpose." He answers eventually.

"I was created to do chores on a farm." She retorts. "But I'm not going to do it very well if it has no future. And I can choose a new purpose in life if I like. More than one, if I like, if I'm lucky."

"Witchers don't have any other purpose." Tiredness allows his bitterness about that seep into his voice.

"Why not?" She asks, genuinely curious as though she can't tell by looking at him.

"Even if I wanted to settle down somewhere, who would want me? I'm not exactly a welcome sight."

"That might not always be a problem. I should explain something. You see, I have an ugly dog. One ear, crooked teeth. White as bone. Big as a wolf. Growls like a demon. Good hunter. Frightens small children."

She pauses to see what effect this information has on him, but he's too tired to care.

"I love that dog, and I think he's beautiful. I'm never scared of him and neither is anyone in town, because they know my dog too. They're used to him. They don't care how big and ugly he is. They know he won't bite unless you strike him. The butcher gives him bones, and the Smith gives him a scratch behind the ears and hoof shavings."

"Why isn't he here with you then, if he's so well liked."

"Market day. Grand market day actually. Too many strangers in town to explain him to. Takes time to calm people down, and I have a lot to do. But every other day, no one gives him a second look."

"So you're saying I'm like your ugly dog, and if I stay in one town long enough, people will stop throwing stones at me to chase me off, and I can get a bone thrown to me at market instead." He says dryly.

"Something like that ... Did I mention I love this dog? And that I have great respect for you." She says sincerely, trying to put the best face on her story.

"Just don't ask to scratch me behind the ears." He says, warming somewhat to her enthusiasm.

She laughs in delight, and a crack appear in his weariness, softening his face.  
"Can I be your guide in town?" She asks. "I assume you need to get payment for that." she nods towards the monster's head. "Maybe some smithing for your horse. Supplies, other things. You're lucky, I can help you find the best merchants in town today."

"All right. You're on." Geralt says. Hopefully if people see a local villager in his company, the townspeople won't be inclined to chase him off. Unless he stands too close of course. No village liked Geralt touching their young women, in his experience.


	2. town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The young woman leads him into town.

None of the passers by so far looked menacing towards him in any way. Most people smile and say hello to the girl and go about their business, much more disturbed by the monsters head than the Witcher who killed it. If they didn't look so ordinary, he'd expect a trap of some sort, but everyone genuinely seems content with his appearance in their midst. 

"This is the mayors office. " she says, and Geralt dismounts, starts to remove the bag of monster.

"Simenon!" She yells up at the second story window of the large house, and a genial grey bearded head sticks out a moment later.

"Why hello Maigret. Oh my, I'll come down." He says, spotting Geralt, and the monster's head in the bag. 

When he appears a short time later, Geralt sees that this is a solidly built man in his forties, with a bustling air about him. One of his favorite types of mayor.

Simenon surprises him by thrusting out a hand to shake his own filthy one. He doesn't even grimace at the stickiness, just wipes his hand on his hand kerchief.

"You must be the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia." He says, with genuine pleasure. "What have you rid us of there?"

"Bruxa, a type of vampire. Have you had many go missing in the forest lately?"

"Why no." He says, greatly surprised. "I must thank you profusely. This must have been a recent addition to our forest. You saved us a sad loss of our people."

"Here, is this enough for your troubles?" The mayor doles out a decent amount of coins. "You're lucky with timing. I was about to spend much of this at the market today. But the safety you've brought us is a better gift than any I was going to buy. Thank you, brave Witcher." He says, shaking Geralt's hand again, enthusiastically. 

"You'll bring him to the inn later, so we can share a drink, won't you Maigret?" He says with cheer.

"Depend on it Simenon." She replies, and with that, the mayor steps back to his doorway, to return to his business, leaving Geralt still reeling at the truly welcoming attitude of the mayor.

"Good, good. Enjoy our market, Geralt. And stick by Maigret, she'll see that you're treated right."

"You aren't enchanted to make people especially nice, are you?" Geralt says, leading Roach back towards the Smith.

Maigret laughs that delighted laugh again. "I wish. No, Simenon is happily married, and our harvests are good this year. He's like that with everyone."

After a few streets, Geralt can smell and hear them close in towards the Smithy. Coming around a last corner the girl calls out.

Pegrent, I found you a customer." Maigret says, and the smith turns around and blinks at Geralt, looking him up and down. 

"Hullo Maigret. You've found another Geralt have you?" He jokes. Geralt frowns.

"Yes." Maigret says quickly, seriously. "This is Geralt of Rivia. The Geralt of Rivia."

"My word. The man behind the ballads, I wasn't expecting that. Or Witcher behind them, anyway. What do you need for your horse, sir? She injured?" He comes and has a closer look at Roach as Geralt lifts off the saddle bags and removes the saddle.

"No. Just a check to make sure her shoes are sound. Re-shoe her right back leg if you think she needs it." Geralt explains, pleasantly surprised at Pegrent's civility.

"Righto. Last thing you need is a thrown shoe. Do you need to stay and calm her, or does she yield foot to a new smith all right?"

"I think she'll be ok with you. Will you girl?" Geralt asks, checking Roach's body language carefully. She seems pretty calm. Then again, with such a pleasant Smith to tend her, why wouldn't she be? "I think she will be fine. See you soon Roach. Be good."

"Want me to clean your armour while I'm at it?" He asks. 

Geralt hesitates. He may as well do it himself and save coin, but he has a decent weight of coin right now, thanks to the mayor. "How much?"

"For you? Free. It might take a while to get to though. Busy day, market day." Pegrent shrugs.

Geralt rocks back on his heels. "Thank you." He says, and starts to take the ensemble off. Maigret and Pegrent both step forward to help him unbuckle it, and between them it takes almost no time to get it all off. Geralt feels disoriented and vulnerable, like he's being attacked with kindness or something.

"Go on to market if you like. There may be work for you in town too, if you're not hurrying elsewhere. Mayor's office is the red roofed building down the way." Pegrent says helpfully. 

"Thank you." Geralt says, and walks away. Looking back in curiosity at the smith. 

Geralt walks Maigret down a quiet side street. After a moment of thought, he leans close to her and whisper growls. "You named your ugly dog Geralt." It's more accusation than question.

"He was a puppy. I thought he looked like a white wolf. I didn't know he'd grow up ugly." She says apologetically.

"Should that make me feel better?" He asks, still somehow weirdly upset by the flood of kindness.

"I think he's beautiful." she says loyally. "It's other people who can't see past his weird teeth and missing ear. "

"Are you and your Geralt very well known in town?" Geralt asks

"I'd like to think so. I sing at the tavern with my dog at my feet."

"Your songs, they wouldn't happen to be about me, would they?" He's beginning to get the idea he's walked into a very strange situation. 

"Not always. Some are about my dog." She admits.

"You wrote ballads about your dog." He says, deeply unimpressed.

"He's a very valiant hunter. And he saved me from a griggen once." She says, defending her dog's reputation.

"Has the heart of a Witcher, does he?" Geralt asks sourly.

"You've heard one of my ballads?" She asks brightly.

"I get the unpleasant feeling that people in this town are being nice to me because I remind them of an ugly dog. " Geralt says, looking back out towards the busier thoroughfare. 

"He's the best dog in the kingdom." She says "If that helps." She adds, seeing Geralt's distaste. 

"And I'm trailing around after you like you're my new master, so of course no one will look twice at the new mutt you've dragged in to town." Geralt says, bitterly. He may bow to royalty when he had to, but to be thought of as someone's pet was by far the most demeaning thing he's had happen to him recently. 

Maigret shakes her head in distressed denial. A new thought occurs to him.

"Are you only following me around to get material for a new ballad?" He asks sharply.

"Not if you don't want me to." She admits.  
Geralt turns away in disgusted anger. People always wanted something from him. Even the nice ones.

She continues quietly. "I offered you my help on the road because I'm grateful that I could compare my Geralt to you, the heroic Witcher of legend. It gave me the idea for my own ballads, and it helped other people to love him like I do. So I'm indebted to you, and to your bard Jaskier writing them." "He's not my bard." Geralt retorts. "Well. Neither of you will pay for a drink in this town while I'm alive. I just.. I just don't know how to explain myself properly." She says.

Geralt isn't sure if he can believe her. Bards are given to stretching truth to suit themselves. 

"I mean it. I won't write a song about you visiting here, though everyone who saw us walking together will ask me to, just so you know. Look, I can pay your room and board for the night of you want. There's really not much I can do to thank you, but I am sincere in my thanks, so your wish is my command."

"So if it's not a song or a story to tell, what do you want in exchange for my time?"

"Nothing." She says. He can tell she is hiding something.

"Then is it my company itself you seek? Planning to stay in my room tonight, were you?" He spits out.

She gasps and blushes, and he feels a moment of victory at finding her true feelings towards him. "How could I possibly satisfy you?" She says horrified and self conscious.

"Oh, I'm sure I could get enough pleasure out of fucking you if I try hard enough." He says, leering as unpleasantly as he can, playing up the lecherous Witcher stereotype.

She blushes brighter, but meets his eyes.  
"Well, I imagine you're quite experienced in that area. So I don't doubt it. Is that what you really want from me?" She looks very uncertain, and very young. Everyone looked so young to him these days. Geralt squeezes his eyes shut against the sight, ashamed of himself. He's misread her again, and been thoroughly unpleasant as a result.

"No." He says quietly.

She whispers.  
"I know girls who have more experience than me, and I'm sure many would do their best to please you if you want."

"Another fact about Witchers for you. We don't actually have immense animalistic sexual appetites."

"I didn't mean it like that." She continues quietly. "I just figured that life on the road is lonely, so it makes sense that you'd want some company, company of your choice. Much better choices than me."

"Thank you, but no. I don't need my sexual exploits compared to you dog's in addition to everything else." He says tiredly.

"I'm sorry, I don't know how everything comes out so wrong." Maigrets hands wring themselves on the handle of her basket. She seems genuinely deeply upset. Geralt forces the tension from his voice and muscles.

"It's my fault, not yours. It's been a hard road, I need a drink." Geralt says, the closest he can bring himself to a proper apology. 

"I can fix that. This way." Maigret says, smiling happily once more, pleased to be able to help, and slides deftly into the crowd, and across the busy square from the smith to the very busy inn. Geralt swallows both his pride, and his self hatred for thinking the worst of the poor girl, and follows her.


	3. Putting the dirt of the road behind you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maigrets helps Geralt settle in to town.

Geralt walks into the dim interior of the inn's tavern without breaking stride, his eyes adjusting themselves instantly to his desired sensitivity.

Maigret has somehow already secured them a table and two drinks. As Geralt sits down, something catches his eye in Maigrets basket.

"It that what I think it is? He pulls out a shaggy hat made to look like a wolf's head. It has one ear.

"My hat?" She says innocently.

"It's a costume. " He accuses. 

She takes a breath and explains. "It's grand market day. I'm singing my dog's praises to the market place today, and in the tavern at dinner. I'm the warm up act for the bard they've hired. If I do it well enough, maybe next grand market I can bring the dog himself, and no one will attack him just for being different."

"You are the strangest bard I've met, and that's saying something, but I can't fault your motives." He admits, sighing. Today is going to be odd, to say the least. But at least things were looking up.

"Thank you." she says. As he drinks half of the tankard, she says. "I'll be honest with you, probably half the people here assume you'll be part of my act tonight." 

"To be honest with you, I'm starting not to care. So long as you don't pull me up on a stage and expect me to perform, they can think what they like." He says, the drink already taking the edge off his nerves.

Maigret looks earnest as she says. "I promise I won't ask you to perform. Honestly. I'm sure I've made you uncomfortable enough for one day."

"Likewise." He says, a ruefully smile ghosting his lips.

She smiles at him in relief. She's so eager to please that he feels even worse for how he treated her earlier. It's as though he kicked a puppy, and it simply turned around and tried even harder to be his friend.

He accepts the second tankard of ale when she pushes it over, sensing his desire to drown the day's frustrations. 

Another moment later a plate of food arrives. It's a fairly plain vegetable stew, but it's hot, and served with a buttered roll. Geralt stifles a groan of pleasure as he tucks in. 

Maigret talks while he eats. "I got you a bath, as well as a bed. You'll have to wait your turn though for the bath, there are a lot of traders who want to wash off the road dust before setting up for the market. Not everyone made it in to town last night."

"Thank you, Maigret. You've been kinder to me than I deserve." Geralt says.

Her smile is radiant. "Repay me by not telling me how silly my ballads are then. If you manage to overhear any."

"I've said far to many sour words to you already, I'm sure I can keep any further ones to myself." He finds himself smiling back, and then when she excuses herself and walks away to start her trade in the market, finds himself wishing to hold the curve of her hips in his hands. And curses himself again. Seems she was right about him sorely needing a bed partner. Well, there'd be another town tomorrow, one where he wasn't the lesser Geralt. 

It's shortly after he's finished both beer and breakfast that a burly man comes up to him and drops a towel on the table.  
"You get two baths. Last wash in this tubful, first wash in the next. This is a tunic to wear while we wash your clothes." He says, dropping a second piece of cloth over the first. "I'll take your gear to your room." He nods at the saddle bags. "Here's the key." A picture of a dog was painted on the handle of the key.  
Geralt shakes his head in disbelief.

"I must thank Maigret again." Geralt says dryly.

The man shrugs, and Geralt follows him to the bath room, sword belt in hand. The stone floor is awash from the previous occupants splashing. He steps in, and the attendant shuts the door behind him.

The bath water is disgustingly dirty, but Geralt ruefully admits to himself, not nearly as disgusting dirty as he is. He strips off quickly, steps in and plunges under the water, surfacing a moment later. He starts rubbing at the crusts of dust that have gathered into every crack and crevice in his skin, glued there by accumulated sweat and the bloody gore from the bruxa.

He can hear another bath being filled in the room next door. Smart. The attendants didn't have to spend any time waiting around for customers to finish their baths to refill them, and a constant stream of customers could be bathed. 

A short time later comes a loud knock at the door, and the call of "bath's ready."

Geralt hauls himself out of the now much filthier water, and walks into the second bathing room. A sharp glance dares the attendant to stare at his exposed scars, but he doesn't, obviously either too tired or too jaded to care in the slightest. 

The water is tepid, but clean, and smelling of soap. He steps in and begins a proper job of cleaning himself as the first reeking bath is emptied noisily into a drain. He heats the water a touch with a quiet Igni. He untangles his hair, cleans under his fingernails, and in every other way he can find, thoroughly removes the annoyances of the road from every pore. Strangely, the bath attendant doesn't knock again, though eventually he hears another patron enter the scrubbed and refilled bath next door. Geralt feels thoroughly restored by the time he slips on the large, shapeless, well worn tunic, and joins other previous bath patrons drying themselves by the fire that provides the 'hot' water for the baths.

Yet another attendant arrives and hands him a soft, pale blue shirt, a pair of cotton briefs and a long charcoal grey vest in the local style with matching trou. 

"This is for you." They say, simply and without expression, and wipe the back of their hand across their sweaty brow.

"What do you mean?" Geralt asks, genuinely perplexed, but the attendant is already moving on to their next task.

Geralt goes to the changing room and puts on the clothes. The shirt barely has enough width in the shoulder, combined with a too baggy waist, but the vest makes up for it somewhat, and the whole ensemble feels comfortable enough once on, and blessedly clean. He settles his swords over the top. Feeling immediately better, He goes out into the market to try to find Maigret.

He follows the sound of a woman singing, and is soon rewarded. She's on a wooden box by an apple seller, singing a very old song about the lovers in the Apple grove. 

"Don't you scrub up well?" She says once the song finishes, and the Apple seller hands her a small coin. Geralt offers her his hand to help her step down from the box.

"I can't accept all this." Geralt says.

"Then give it back once your clothes are mended, if you must."

"Mending too? Is there anything you didn't think of?"

"Well how would I know that?" She cocks her head.

"Good point." He looks around himsekf, still uncomfortable with how close people are willing to pass near him.

"Oh, I did find you some ointment for the scratch on your arm." She says, holding out a small wooden pot.

"Why are you being so kind to a grumpy old Witcher?" Geralt asks. 

"Why wouldn't I?"

"People rarely are. I must look in on Roach, walk with me?"

"I like you. I apologise if it's bothering you. "

"No... it's just. Is this what it's like to be a normal human? People are nice to you for no good reason, you get given gifts out of nowhere."

"I'm not sure about other towns, but yes. This is what we're like."

"I regret that I have somewhere else to be." He says sincerely. He's getting used to this place.

"Surely you don't have to leave already." She says, face falling.

"No, but I'll ride out on the dawn tomorrow, if I can. A friend sent urgent word to me. He believes that there's a very rare monster in the mountains behind the next town over. I want to get there before curiosity gets the better of him and he wanders off to find it alone. He becomes very brave when he's trying to impress a woman, which is always. It's Jaskier, in fact. You didn't notice him come through here, did you, perhaps a week ago? Skinny, yea tall, probably wearing something impracticable and outlandish and flirting with anyone who looked female enough to attract his attention. You'd know if he'd seen you , that's for sure, you're just his type."

"What type is that?" She asks sweetly, and he realises how talkative he has become.  
"Either that beer was stronger than i thought. Or you are enchanted. " He says, somewhat embarrassed.

"I'd like to think I'm enchanting," she says.

Geralt suddenly notices they've been standing in front of the smithy for at least a minute. Dear Melitele he needed to sleep, and gather some sense of decorum. Standing around flirting with young women was Jaskier's style, not his. 

"I should leave you to your business, and go use that bed you got me... for sleeping. How did you get a bed on market day?" He asks, realising how unlikely it is.

"I must be enchanted." She quips. "See you later, Geralt."

He smiles. "See you later. You may have to wake me for that drink with the mayor though."


	4. Good evening Witcher.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I went to sleep for four hours. What happened? Why is everyone so fucking touchy feely around here? Dammit Maigret, what have you been singing?

He dreams of many things, violent and good both. In his last one, he dreams of the smell of Oranges and licorice, and the feel of soft, warm, skin.

He wakes feeling refreshed, but guilty. The scent remained present in the waking world. Upon inspection it's clinging to a note shoved under the door.

"Your armor and clothes are behind the bar. I hope you'll come see me perform. PS: I found you a herb master. " It was signed with a fancy M. There's no doubting she's a bard.

She must have tiptoed up to his door and slipped it under. The room had turned out to be the best in the inn, at the end off the hallway, the window looking over the quieter back courtyard. Without people walking past his door to disturb him, he'd drawn the curtains, locked the door, and fallen asleep without fuss. 

He puts the vest and swords back on, and ventures out. When he walks down to the half empty tavern room, someone spots him and calls. "Hail Geralt, Vampire slayer!"

The rest of the room turn towards him, cheer and raise their drinks. Geralt accepts their praise with a mix of mortification and good grace. He's never been very comfortable at the centre of attention.

He had meant to get his armor, clothes and maybe more ale, but the scrutiny is overwhelming, even if it's positive. He responds to the calls to join them for a drink, and the sudden barmaid brushing up against his side with a stunned. "Sorry, I have business to attend. Thank you, sorry. Perhaps later." He escapes onto the street as several men break out into a ragged chorus of "Toss a coin to your Witcher." behind him. A coin actually hits the floor besides him as he leaves, he shrinks back from it as though it's cursed. Laughter escapes from the room behind him.

This town feels like a dream. Or a nightmare. Even the market's guards smile and nod at him. People offer him goods and thanks at every step as he wanders the market. His arms slowly fill, as he can't bring himself to turn away their honest gratitude, instead accepting it and their words of thanks with a murmur about duty and purpose, or a nod and grunt.

He tracks the sounds of song through the market stall and crowds.

"The monster screams a killing cry  
Swoops in with a mortal blow,  
The Witcher quick, the monster slow.  
He feels the scratch, but who's to know?  
He falters not for a moment, when  
The vampire wails and strikes again  
The sing of sword blade, strong and true,  
The monsters blood flies thick and blue." 

A cheer goes up from the crowd as the sound o fc a hand drum continues the song.

As the crowd parts, Geralt can see the bruxa's head sits on a pike in the middle of the square. Below it stands Maigret, singing his praises. She breaks off when she sees him.

The audience turn to look at him too, then swarm around him to cheer and slap him on the shoulder in a disconcerting fashion. Haven't these people heard of personal space? Not even his grumpy expression and defensive stance is keeping most of them back. He has no idea how to stop them touching him without hurting someone and dropping the gifts. He should have worn his armor.

Maigret leans in close to him and raises her voice, to be heard over the racket.  
"I'm sorry. Everyone wanted to know about the Rusalka. So I made something up. I got the last part right though, you rode into town on Roach and the town sang your praises." She looks genuinely frightened of him.

"Take me to the herbalist." He says shortly, flinching away from the affectionate touch of the strangers around him.

"Right away." She says and stands back up on her fruit box.

"Show's over. Come to the tavern at night fall for another performance. Until then, we have serious business to attend." She yells, doing her best to disperse the crowd. Most do, except for a group of small boys who dare one another to come touch his swords until he turns and snarls at them like a wolf. They disperse with squeals of delighted fright.

"What have you done?" He mutters to Maigret, walking close to her to avoid other market goers.

"My job. I'm sorry, I think my initial refusal to tell the story only provoked more interest." She says, hurrying him towards the herbalist.

He can't really stay mad at her. Besides, Jaskier has done worse in the past, making up songs when he actually knew the truth of what happened.

"Here she is. Madame Lloweth." 

"Come sit down dear." The grey haired lady says. Her soft face folds easily into a smile. "I haven't served one of your kind since I was Maigret's age. Not you, that Witcher had copper coloured eyes and jet black hair. Like my old Puszek here" she says, patting a sleepy old tom cat curled on the corner of her table.

"Why does everyone in this town compare me to their pets?" Geralt grumps.

Maigret looks embarrassed, but Madame Lloweth just laughs an easy laugh and replies. "Because we appreciate having them both in our lives, even when we don't understand them. Good for killing vermin too. Did the Bruxa really give you that much trouble?"

"I don't know. I haven't told a soul what happened except my horse." He looks at Maigret meaningfully. 

"Oh Maigret. You scamp. You made that up? Good work." Madame Lloweth praises her.

"I know all of Jaskier's ballads by heart, it wasn't difficult to improvise." Maigret smiles at the herbalist's praise.

"How do you know they're Jaskier's ballads?" Geralt asks her.

"Well, as far as I knew any ballad about a Geralt is either his, or mine, and mine are usually about a different Geralt."

"Yes, how could we forget your ugly dog's role in all this." 

Madame Lloweth fairly roars with laughter. Geralt glares as her, but she just laughs more.

"Oh, you dain't frighten me Witcher. I'm no a monster." Madame Lloweth's continuing amusement thickens her accent noticeably. All the noise wakes her cat, who hisses at him like a fellow Tom, then runs off when he snarls in return, jumping off the table with difficulty. This only makes the old herbalist laugh even more.

He glares up at Maigret instead. Even she is holding back her laughter with a bitten fingernail. Feeling completely undermined, he curses bards under his breath. 

He's about to leave when Madame Lloweth gets a hold of herself. Wiping her eyes she says. "Come now Witcher, what do you need? I'll give you a good price."

The Witcher swallows his smart retorts, and gets down to business. He notices Maigret is taking careful notes of what he and the herbalist are discussing.

"Why are you taking notes? None of these draughts are safe for a human even when made properly, let alone improperly."

"I know... I was going to write a ballad about Witchers. Not you as such... just Witchers in general. I figure your draughts are just one of the many dangers you face."

"How did you know about Witcher draughts anyway"

"Ballads."

"Figures." he grunts.

"I wanted to add some realism to the whole thing. It's all well and good to name exotic poisons in a ballad because they sound exciting, but it doesn't help the Witcher who suddenly has cut rate herbalists trying to flog him the wrong stuff, dangerous herbs that they are sure he'll pay handsomely for thanks to some fanciful song."

"Good point." Geralt concedes.

"Our Maigret has a good head on her shoulders. And a good heart in her chest too. Come, we should get to work. Maigret here has a show to prepare for." 

Geralt and the herbalist talk shop at length, double checking, making sure the mixtures she sold him were of the right ratio and strengths and doses. 

Geralt was lucky that he knew exactly what went into most of his potions. Some Witchers just had to trust they'd been sold the correct thing. But he knew from experience that not all vendors could be trusted. Luckily none had been outright poison, but a few had been so strong he'd vomited them back up once the battle had past, and others had strange side effects, or that left his mood vastly altered, once for days.

He had no fear of that from Madame Lloweth. She was quicker not to sell than to sell him wrong. Still, he left her stall with good stock, but few coins. Although he was fairly sure that rare monster would turn out to be no more than some out of season common beast, if anything at all, Geralt was never one to take chances and he was glad for the extra help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may regret asking this, but how's my singing?


	5. A night of song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please Google American akita if you'd like a clearer picture of this dog (because why not have it be the same breed as Henry Cavill's dog?)

The mayor sits with him for an early supper. There are pierogi and soup. Stuffed with vegetables and flavoured with bacon fat, filling and hot and satisfying. Geralt eats an indecent amount of them. Simenon asks him sensible questions about how to repel monsters, and how to ensure safety through winter.

The evening's entertainment starts with a relaxed round of applause. Obviously Maigret is well liked around here.

Maigret was right about the choice of women to spend time with . As soon as the dinner guests slow down, and the music starts up, two of the bar maids press up against him whenever they have the chance, smiling coyly. A third pouts that there's no room for her, then she brazenly sits right in his lap. Other patrons bat eyes at him from around the room, not all female. He tries to nod and smile politely in return to each interested gaze. 

He's about to inform the third barmaid that she's sitting so he can't get his mug to his mouth, when someone pushes a second mug of ale into his other hand. 

He is once again deeply confused by this turn of events. Thankful, but perplexed. 

There are many uncommon sights around him, from elves sat next to human friends, to a ferrety little creature that watched the music from the rafters. Obviously this town was not enemy to any that would call it friend.

But he only has eyes for Maigret. She is radiant as she sings. Her voice isn't songbird beautiful, or ethereal and soaring, or any of the other things that might make a bard exceptional, and famous. But she is true to tune , and she sings with an an expressive enthusiasm that's infectious. The crowd loves her for good reason.

Just as she ends her first song a voice calls from the back of the room. "Make way, make way for Geralt, the bravest battle companion anyone could ask for!"

Geralt knows that voice... Then he's distracted, as a giant dog strides confidently through the room and up to Maigret, sitting at her feet and looks expectantly at her. She scratches behind his ears, giggling and he turns around and sits alert, looking into the crowd, keeping his master safe. Geralt can see that the beast has tawny eyes. It also has two wide fang-like teeth protruding out of one side of its mouth, as though in a perpetual sneer. Not to mention that scars show up well on a white dog.

What really takes the cake though, is that someone has dressed the dog. Someone had used what looks like a tattered old grey blanket and turned it into a facsimile of his armour, and then strapped a pair of wooden swords to the dog's back.

Some one has dressed the dog like him. Everyone in the tavern cheers and laughs.

"Oh my word." Says Simenon.

A lute strums a chord. Geralts entire body stiffens. The barmaids thankfully catch his change in body language and give him his space. He puts down the beer and storms through the crowd to Jaskier 

"Jaskier. " he says, from very close by. 

His gaze shoots daggers at both Jaskier and Maigret, and he drags Jaskier straight back out the door he just came in. 

"Play your song!" Jaskier calls as he's herded out.

"You did this?" Geralt demands, gesturing back toward the dog and Maigret. 

"Well..."

"They're comparing me to a dog, and you encouraged it. Let me guess, dressing the dog up was your idea?"

"You came first, so they're comparing the dog to you. And of course I dressed up the dog, its cute. I would've been here earlier otherwise."

"What part of this did you expect me to enjoy? Or is this merely you having the courtesy to laugh at me to my face?" 

"No.. neither of those things.. exactly." Jaskier says.

"Then what, bard? Why invite me to this place?"

"Have you not noticed how lovely this town is? How nice they are to you?" Jaskier asks.

"Yes. Disturbingly so."

"That's why I brought you here. I didn't even know you'd be arriving today. This was just supposed to be a fun thing for me and Maigret."

"I don't know what about our friendship made you think I wanted a surprise."

Jaskier glows with happinesd.

"Stop doing that every time I say friendship, or I'll won't say it anymore."

"You wouldn't have come if you'd known what I was doing. So I invented a monster. I just wanted you to walk into a town and have people smile at you."

"Ok. Ok.. thank you for the thought. The execution was lacking."

"I'm sorry." Jaskier say honestly. "You want another drink?"

Geralt nods and Jaskier hugs his happily, steering him back to the inn.

The pair go back in and listen to Maigret. After that drunk though, Jaskier joins her on stage, joining his lute to her voice.

Her ballads about her dog are genuinely rousing, and funny, and heartwarming by turns. And she acts them out with true comedic style, being the dog, and the gremlin, and a plucky girl that must be herself, one after the other, or sharing the stage with Jaskier and battling against him. 

She accompanies herself on a hand drum in parts. And all the while her real dog sits guard at her feet, apparently used to this sort of shenanigans. 

It's all fun and games until Jaskier gets a little too real being handsy as a monster, and she yelps out a protest at his over-friendliness. In an instant Geralt perks up, scrambling to his feet, and seeing Jaskier's hand upon her bodice, he springs up and holds Jaskier's arm. He doesn't bite, he just stands still, and holds Jaskier's forearm in his giant mouth. The tavern goes quiet, and the low growl coming from Geralt can be heard around the room.

"Help, Maigret. Help?" Jaskier says, frightened witless. 

"Off, Geralt. Stop."

Geralt lets go, and noses up to Maigret, checking to make sure she's ok. She pats him on the head. "He won't stand for anyone hurting me, will you Geralt?"

Jaskier bows to the dog theatrically "I'm sorry, Geralt. I promise. No more hands on your lady. I swear."

Geralt the dog seems pacified by Jaskier's apologetic tone, wuffs, and returns to sitting at Maigret's feet again.

"Witness the might of Geralt the great protector, savior of maiden's virtues!" Maigret calls out to the room.

And just like that everyone's back to enjoying themselves again, unafraid of the massive, potentially vicious dog in their midst. Because everyone knows his limits, and no-one's stupid enough to try to cross them.


	6. Chapter 6

While they're drinking after the show all four of them feel relaxed and happy. It's just Jaskier, Maigret, and the two Geralts, leaning on the back fence of the inn. staring up at the stars and sipping decent ale.

"I forgive you writing the ballad of the bruxa without permission, by the way. I have one question though." Geralt looks at Maigret.

She nods.

"How the fuck did you get so accurate to my actual battle with the monster? You weren't there."

"You have enough ale?" She asks, indicating it's quite the tale  
Geralt grunts and holds up his pint in assent. She takes a deep breath.

"Jaskier waxed lyrical about your fighting style when tipsy last night, so I have recent knowledge about how you might move. Since I'd witnessed a good twenty minutes of imitation before he accidentally whacked a hand into furniture and decided he should take a seat."  
" I saw that the blood from the scratch on your arm dried onto you skin without any disturbance, so it was probably at the end of the fight, and from claw, not mouth, else you would have cleaned it immediately with something strong. Everyone at market saw the monster's blood was blueish. "  
"The killing blow was visible on the head itself, because I don't know any animal that could survive that sort of injury. And you're not a brute who'd do that for fun. I can tell fresh scratches on armor from old ones, so I knew that you'd grappled . "  
"Roach would have been better curried if you'd settled to sleep before sensing the monster last night. And I wouldn't have met you on the road this morning if you'd killed it immediately. The mud on your boots was still drying, and I know how deep the stream is in the forest, so i estimated timing of the fight from that. How long you stalked it, how long you'd ridden afterwards. I happen to know the moon's path last night, so i added that detail for dramatic effect. I don't know which details were accurate, but those are most of the clues I used to create a general sense of the fight."

Jaskier elbows Geralt. "Isn't Maigret amazing? She sung me the song of my trip to see her, without asking me a single question about it."

"She probably only had to listen to your incontinent babble flirting in order to do that." Geralt comments.

"Hey." Jaskier protests, but Maigret laughs.

"So I did you some justice?" She asks, eagerly.

"You did, It was gratifying to finally have a song about me that didn't anger me with both the inaccuracy, and the tenuous rhyme scheme." Geralt replies, and she gasps in shock before giggling.

"Hey, my ballads are sung far and wide. They made you famous." Jaskier protests, seriously miffed.

"Jaskier, even I can tell that the meter you use to fit in your pet words is terrible sometimes. You're just lucky that your melodies are so catchy that no one cares, and it gets stuck in their head anyway."

Maigret laughs so hard at this insult that she almost falls over.

"Maigret!" Jaskier admonishes. "You too?"

"You're like two men making a bridge from opposite sides of a stream, and finding out they don't meet in the middle."

Maigret smiles and puts an arm around them both.

"You are much more lively now. You weren't like this earlier, is it the ale or the performing?" Geralt asks.

"No, It's the presence of Geralt here. Every woman would laugh as freely as me if we didn't have to worry how men might hurt us as a result. I'm one of the few women to have an ever vigilant guardian against the boors of society. I imagine being a Witcher is just the same. You can be blunt as a bommy knocker because who's going to challenge you on it?"

"No, that's just because he spends so much more time with Roach than in civilisation. A stranger to social graces my Geralt." Jaskier laments.

"Stop comparing me to the dog." Geralt rumbles.

Maigret laughs again. 

"What about the men you want to charm? Geralt asks. 

"Oh sweet innocent Geralt. She kisses him on the cheek unexpectedly, holding his chin gently. He blushes with surprise.

She continues sweetly and tenderly. "Is that flirting? You're so sweet. But you have the emotional intelligence of a plank, tied to a rock , and shoved into a three day dead donkey."

"... What?" It takes Geralt a while to understand what was said, it was said so sweetly.

Jaskier gasps in a breath and continues to wheeze out silent laughter.

Maigret expounds. "If I ever sleep with a man, he'll have to be more than just heroic. He'll have to be able to talk about his emotions without imploding or exploding. Your emotions are strong Witcher, you need to learn to know your own strength. I accepted your apology, but you treated me pretty poorly earlier today."

"What did you do, Geralt?" Jaskier asks, this is the first he's hearing of any of this.

"Assumed I wanted to fuck him, and made comment on my abilities as a potential bed partner." Maigret says evenly.

"Geralt!" Jaskier admonishes.

"I really needed a nap." Geralt says.

"Maigret is interested in the fairer sex, as you are, dear Geralt." Jaskier confides. "I offered to provide myself as an example of how gentle and generous a male lover could be, but she turned me down." He looks at Maigret, mock pining.

"He's this far from being pretty enough to tempt me into trying." Maigret says, grinning. "Look at these beautiful soft blue eyes, these pouting lips. If only you were a girl my sweet Jaskier, or at least shaved off that chest hair of yours." She says, mock falling into his arms in a swoon.

Geralt looks a little uncomfortable as to where the conversation is straying. He's been feeling hopped up enough today without this.. nonsense, to contend with.

Maigret notices. "Bards flirt Geralt, honestly...you can't be a prude." She jokes.

"Because I'm a savage beast?" Geralt asks pettily.

Maigret looks flabbergasted. "Because you've hung around with Jaskier for half a lifetime without melting of embarrassment. Or is this delicate manner of yours only because you're in front of a woman?" Maigret sighs in exasperation. 

"I swear, it must have been a very miserable bastard who decided the rules of society at large. Chaining women and men into such specific roles, sure to be punished violently for failing to live up to them. The difference between the sexes only matters decisively when it comes to making babies. Everything else is a matter of taste, if only people would realise it."

"This is why I would be your wife in an instant if you proposed to me, dear Maigret. You would accept me for the delicate flower I am without question." Jaskier says, kneeling before her and kissing her hand.

"I would, Dear Jaskier, but I fear you'd grow bored of me and wander off after someone much more exciting than I am. And I'd be so heart broken." Maigret , putting the back of one hand to her head. 

"As would I Maigret. But what man or woman could look upon you and not fall in love a little?" He says, eyes warm, and so close to Maigret that dog Geralt stirs a little, still not quite trusting the bard after earlier.

"Her virtue is safe from me, Geralt. " The bard says, pulling his hands off Maigret.

"He doesn't seem too bothered by me. Why it that?". Geralt asks, as it feels unusual. 

"You don't smell like monster guts. You're not acting aggressively. " she shrugs. "Why would he care what you look like."

"Because I'm a large mutant? Most animals and people react poorly." 

"Let me guess. Is their reaction worse when you're spattered in monster blood and you're looking at everyone with your murder face?"

"My what?" Geralt asks, stunned by the description. 

Jaskier clicks his fingers in recognition. "Oh! That's because towns stink of so many things, and he gets anxious about people being awful to him." 

He turns back to Geralt. "The combination of disgust and worry makes you look like you're going to kill whoever next looks at you wrong. Absolutely terrifying if you dont know what it's about, especially if you are covered in guts. I'd run from you myself if i didn't kbow you wwre a softie."

Geralt rankles at the frank description of himself, then contemplates. "I didn't make that connection."

"That and when you smile with teeth. Makes you look like a wolf." Jaskier says. 

"Want to critique my looks any more?" Geralt grumps at Jaskier.

"A flower crown would look gorgeous against your white locks." Maigret chips in.

Jaskier laughs a happy easy laugh. Geralt looks at her, then just shakes his head in disbelief, raising his mug to drink more beer.

And Geralt realises, he's happy here. Truly happy, because he's talking with friends in the starlight, and no-one will interrupt their enjoyment of the night. 

He's so relaxed he yawns. A jaw splitting, lung expanding yawn. He starts to wonder where everyone is sleeping tonight.

"Do you have a room here?" Geralt asks Maigret. 

"Not any more. I was going to share with Jaskier until I gave away his room key to you."

"I thought.. you said..."

"There are two beds. I was going to share one with my Geralt, and Jaskier was going to have the other to himself, by himself. And no one who knows me would have batted an eyelid at that." Maigret says happily.

Jaskier says. "I can see why you sing songs about him. Useful for any situation, no matter the shape of the beast. But what are you going to do now?" 

She shrugs. "I hadn't thought about it. Probably share the fireside with the less lucky merchants. "

Geralt jumps in. "Jaskier, would you mind sharing a bed with me tonight?"

"No?"

"Maigret, I am not afraid to be the lesser Geralt in the room. Stay with us."

"Thank you, dear Witcher. " she smiles.


End file.
